/ 


Retrospect 


After  Benozzo  G 


"  And  oh  ! "  the  King  Balthazzar  said, 
As  he  gazed  into  the  sky. — Page  70. 


Retrospect 

AND    OTHER     POEMS. 


by 
A  MARY  F.  ROBINSON 

(  Madame  Jameal/armeskter.) 


CAMEX)  SERIES 


BOSTON :  ROBERTS  BROS. 
LONDON :  T.  FISHER  UNWIN 


Contents. 


Lyrics. 

PAGE 

Retrospect .3 

The  Frozen  River          .        .        .        .        .  6 

Fair  Ghosts '.  .  8 

Foreign  Spring 10 

Souvenir II 

Spring  and  Autumn 12 

The  Vision 13 

The  Gospel  according  to  St.  Peter  .        .         .  14 

Veritatem  Dilexi 15 

Le  Roc-du-Chere   .         .         .                  .         .  16 

Vishtaspa .  17 

Zeno 18 

Philojudaus 20 

Irenceus  contra  Gnosticos       .        .        .        .  21 

Taking  Possession 22 

The  Present  Age 23 

Liberty          .......  24 


vi  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The  Disguised  Princess          .        •        •        •        25 

Soldiers  Passing z6 

A  French  Lily 27 


Song 


28 


The  Widow 29 

Song 32 

The  Barrier 33 

Sdva  Oscura 34 

The  Children's  Angel 35 

A  Controversy 39 

Serena  .         .         •         •         •         •         •         •  41 

The  Sibyl 45 

Ephthatha 46 

The  Sonnet 47 

The  Bookworm      ......  48 

New  Year's  Eve 50 

Oriental  Jealousy 5  * 

A  Word  in  Counsel 53 

Song 54 

Ballads  and  Legends. 

The  Death  of  the  Count  of  Armaniac     .         .  57 

Rosamunda 60 


CONTENTS.  vii 

TAGS 

Captain  Gold  and  French  Janet     ...  62 

Sir  Eldric 65 

The  Mower 67 

The  Three  Kings 69 

The  Slumber  of  King  Solomon       ...  74 

The  Death  of  Prester  John    ....  76 

The  Widower  of  Haiderabad         ...  80 

The  Deer  and  the  Prophet      ....  83 


Lyrics. 


LYRICS. 


Retrospect. 
«¥ 

TJERE  beside  my  Paris  fire,  I  sit  alone  and 

ponder 

All  my  life  of  long  ago  that  lies  so  far  asunder  ; 
"Here,   how   came   I   thence?"    I   say,  and 

greater  grows  the  wonder 
As  I  recall  the  farms  and  fields  and  placid 

hamlets  yonder. 

.  .  .  See,  the  meadow-sweet  is  white  against 
the  watercourses, 

Marshy  lands  are  kingcup-gay  and  bright 
with  streams  and  sources, 

Dew-bespangled  shines  the  hill  where  half- 
abloom  the  gorse  is  ; 

And  all  the  northern  fallows  steam  beneath 
the  ploughing  horses. 


4  LYRICS. 

There's   the   red-brick-chimneyed  house,  the 

ivied  haunt  of  swallows, 
All  its  garden  up  and  down  and  full  of  hills 

and  hollows  ; 
Past  the  lawn,  the  sunken  fence  whose  brink 

the  laurel  follows, 
And  then  the  knee-deep  pasture  where  the 

herd  for  ever  wallows  ! 

So  they've  clipped  the  lilac  bush  ;  a  thousand 

thousand  pities ! 
'Twas  the  blue  old-fashioned  sort  that  never 

grows  in  cities. 
There  we  little  children  played  and  chaunted 

aimless  ditties, 
While  oft  the  old  grandsire  looked  at  us  and 

smiled  his  Nunc  Dimittis  ! 

Green,  O  green  with  ancient  peace,  and  full  of 
sap  and  sunny, 

Lusty  fields  of  Warwickshire,  O  land  of  milk 
and  honey, 

Might  I  live  to  pluck  again  a  spike  of  agri- 
mony, 

A  silver  tormentilla  leaf  or  ladysmock  upon 
ye  ! 


LYRICS.  5 

Patience,  for  I  keep  at  heart  your  pure  and 

perfect  seeming, 
can  see   you  wide  awake   as   clearly   as  in 

dreaming, 
Softer,  with  an  inner  light,  and  dearer,  to  my 

deeming, 
Than  when   beside  your  brooks  at  noon   I 

watched  the  sallows  gleaming  ! 


LYRICS. 


The  Frozen  River. 
«* 

*T*HE  silver-powdered  willows  of  the  Quai, 

Rise    frosty-clear    against   the   roseate 

skies, 

The  winter  sunlight  mellows  ere  it  dies 
And  lingers  where  the  frozen  river  lies. 

Between  the  hurrying  wharves,  a  sheet  of  grey 
It  sleeps  beneath  the  parapet  of  stone  : 
A  sudden  desolation,  empty,  lone 
And  silent  with  a  silence  of  its  own. 

All  round  the  city  vast  and  loud  and  gay  ! 

...  If  one  should  weary  of  the  press 

and  din 
And  venture  here — beware !  the  crust  is 

thin  ; 
One  step — and  lo,  the  Abyss  would  draw 

him  in. 


LYRICS.  7 

Athwart  the  happiest  lives  of  every  day 

Beside  the  Lovers'  Walk,  the  household 

mart, 

Think  ye  there  lies  no  silent  road  apart  ? 
No  mute  and    frozen   Chasm   of  the 
heart  ? 


LYRICS 


Fair  Ghosts. 


\  X  /HEN  the  extreme  of  autumn  whirls  the 

oak-leaf  from  the  forest, 
Till  from  the  withered  ling, 
The  hardiest  birds  take  wing  ; — 
Courage,  Heart  !    there   surges   through    this 

winter  thou  abhorrest, 
The  Vision  of  the  spring  ! 

When  the  oncoming  years  dispel  the  magic  of 

our  morning 
Till  all  the  Past  is  shed 
With  petals  falling  red  : 
Lost  illusions,  hope  defeated,  passion  turned 

to  scorning, 
Eternal  friendship  dead  ; 


LYRICS.  9 

Ah,  in  how  many  an  hour  of  twilight, — Soft ! 

they  wake  and  flutter, 
And  hover  round  us  yet, 
The  ghosts  of  our  regret : 
Long  lost  altered  faces,  names  we  never  hear 

or  utter 
And  nevermore  forget ! 

Rock,  O  tormented  forest,  all  thy  branches 

torn  and  hoary ! 
In  vain  the  tempest  stings. 
The  skies  I  watch  are  Spring's, 
Lovelier  still  and  haloed  with  the  soft  poetic 

glory, 
Of  all  remembered  things  ! 


IO  LYRICS. 


Foreign   Spring  . 


HTHE  charlock  and  the  hemlock  flowers 

Have  hung  their  laces  o'er  the  green  ; 
The  buttercups  are  bright  and  sheen 

As  though  the  Spring  were  ours. 

But  through  the  poplar-rank  there  shines 

The  white  interminable  way  ; 
And  down  the  hill  the  budding  vines 

Go  softly  gloved  in  grey. 

Amid  a  purer  loftier  sky 

The  foreign  sun  burns  far  and  bright 
.  .  .  O  mistier  fields  !  O  tenderer  light  ! 
I  pause  awhile  and  sigh. 


LYRICS.  1 1 


Souvenir. 

•* 

rjVEN  as  a  garden  full  of  branch  and  blooth 
Seen  in  a  looking-glass  and  so  more  fair 
With  boughs  suspended  in  a  magic  air 

More   spacious   and  more  radiant  than    the 
truth  ; 

So  I  remember  thee,  my  happy  Youth, 

And  smile  to  look  upon  the  days  that  were, 
As  they  had  never  told  of  doubt  or  care, 

As  I  had  never  wept  for  grief  or  ruth. 

So,  were  our  spirits  destined  to  endure, — 
So,  were  the  After-life  a  promise  sure 

And  not  the  mocking  mirage  of  our  dearth  ! 

Through  all  eternity  might  Heaven  appear 
The  still,  the  vast,  the  radiant  souvenir 

Of    one   unchanging    moment   known   on 
Earth. 


12  LYRICS. 


Spring  and  Autumn. 


in  His   heart   made  Autumn   for  the 
young  ; 
That  they  might  learn  to  accept  the  ap- 

proach of  age 

In  golden  woods  and  starry  saxifrage 
And  valleys  all  with  azure  mists  o'erhung. 

For  over  Death  a  radiant  veil  He  flung, 
That  thus  the  inevitable  heritage 
Might    come    revealed    in   beauty,   and 

assuage 

The  dread  with  which  the  heart  of  youth  is 
wrung. 

And  for  the  consolation  of  the  old 

He   made  the   delicate,   swift,   tumultuous 

Spring  ; 
That  every  year  they  might  again  behold 

The  image  of  their  youth  in  everything 

And  bless  the  fruit-trees  flowering  in  the  cold 
Whose  harvest  is  not  for  their  gathering. 


LYRICS. 


The   Vision. 


OOMETIMES  when  I  sit  musing  all  alone 
The  sick  diversity  of  human  things, 
Into   my  soul,  I  know  not  how,  there 
springs 

The  Vision  of  a  world  unlike  our  own. 


O  stable  Zion,  perfect,  endless,  One, 

Why  hauntest  thou  a  soul  that  hath  no 

wings  ? 
I  look  on  thee  as  men  on  mirage-springs, 

Knowing  the  desert  bears  but  sand  and  stone. 

Yet,  as  a  passing  mirror  in  the  street 

Flashes  a  glimpse  of  gardens  out  of  range 
Through   some  poor  sick-room  open   to  the 
heat ; 

So  in  our   world  of  doubt,  and  death,  and 

change, 

The  vision  of  Eternity  is  sweet, 
The  vision  of  Eternity  is  strange  ! 


14  LYRICS. 


The    Gospel  according  to  St. 
Peter. 


'TO-MORROW  or  in  twenty  centuries 
The  sudden  falling  open  of  a  lid 
On  some  grey  tomb  beside  the  Pyramid 

May  bring  the  First  Evangel  to  our  eyes. 

That  day,  who  knows  with  what  aghast  sur- 
prise 

Our  priests  shall  touch  the  very  deeds  He  did, 
And  learn  the  truth  so  many  ages  hid, 

And  find,  perchance,  the  Christ  did  never  rise. 

What  then  ?  shall  all  our  faith  be  accounted 

vain  ? 

Nothing  be  left  of  all  our  nights  of  prayer  ? 
Nothing  of  all  the  scruples,  all  the  tears 
Of  endless  generations'  endless  years  ? 
Take  heart  !      Be  sure  the  fruits  of   these 

remain. 
Hark  to  the  Inner  Witness  :  Christ  is  there  ! 


LYRICS.  1 5 


Veritatem  Dilexi. 

(In  Memoriam — Ernest  Renan.) 

'TRUTH  is  an   Idol,"  spake  the   Christian 

sage. 
"  Thou  shalt  not  worship  Truth  divorced 

from  Love. 
Truth    is     but    God's     reflection  :     Look 

above  !  " 
So  Pascal  wrote,  and  still  we  muse  the  page. 

"  Truth  is  divine,"  said  Plato,  "  but  on  high 
She  dwells,  and  few  may  be  her  ministers, 
For  Truth  is  sad  and  lonely  and  diverse  : 

Heal  thou  the  weakling  with  a  generous  lie ! " 

But  thou  in  Truth  delightedst !  Thou  of  soul 
As  subtle-shimmering  as  the  rainbow  mist, 
And  still  in  all  her  service  didst  persist. 

For  no  One  truth  thou  lovedst,  but  the  Whole. 


1 6  LYRICS. 


Le  Roc-du-Chere. 
* 

TJ IGH  on  the  heathery  hill-brow  o'er  the  lake, 
*     White  as  a  temple  gleams  the  tomb  afar. 
Shine  on,  shine  on  even  as  a  guiding  star, 
And  let  our  souls  be  nobler  for  thy  sake  ! 

He  whom  we  leave  amid  the  rocks  and  winds 
Tower'd  in  our  midst,  a  conscience  to  us  all. 
We  looked  at  him  and  fought,  and  dared 
not  fall, 

But  faced  the  truth  in  front  with  honest  minds. 

O  passionate  and  loyal  Spirit  of  Life 

That  spake  so  true  and  firm  thro'  doubt  and 

pain. 
O  large  and  grand  and  simple  soul  of  Taine, 

Be  to  us  still  our  standard  in  the  strife  ; 

Pure  as  the  welling  waters  of  thy  wave, 
And  mighty  as  the  mountains  of  thy  rest. 
Indomitable  as  yonder  eagled  crest, 

And  lowly  as  these  grasses  round  thy  grave. 


LYRICS.  17 


Vishtaspa. 
i. 

thirty  years  Vishtaspa  reigned  alone, 
No  King  above  him  in  the  empty  skies, 
No  Lord  of  all  earth's  fallen  sovereignties 
To  mock  the  mighty  tedium  of  his  throne. 

To  him  the  secrets  of  the  stars  were  known 
Who  was  above  all  sages  great  and  wise  ; 
Yet  as  the  years  dragged  on  without  sur- 
prise 

He  wearied  of  this  world  that  was  his  own. 

Earth  is  too  narrow  for  the  dreaming  Soul. 
Ay,  tho'  she  hold  it  all  from  pole  to  pole 

Her  least  desire  is  wider  than  the  whole. 

t- 

Therefore  who  knows  the  limit  of  his  power 
Disdains  the  trivial  baubles  of  an  hour, 
And  plunges  where  the  seas  of  silence  roll. 


1 8  LYRICS. 


II. 


"  Life  is  a  dream,"  Vishtaspa  said,  "  wherein 
The  dreamer  lives  alone,  the  rest  is  vain. 
My  dream  shall  end,  for  I  would   sleep 
again." 

He  went  his  palace-terraces  to  win  : 

— u  Farewell,"  he  said,  "  glitter  and  glare  and 

din  ; 

Farewell !  I  cast  me  to  the  quiet  plain." 

But  as  he  would  have  leapt,  a  voice  spoke 

plain  : 
"  Mortal,  thy  Master  saith  :   thou  shalt  not 

sin." 

Lo,  at  his  side,  unguessed,  Zoroaster  trod. 
— O  sudden  peace  of  heart,  O  deep  delight 
Of  souls  outgrown  religion's  earlier  rite, 
Yet  spent  and   thirsting  for   the   springs  of 

God, 

When    the    undreamed-of    Prophet    deigns 
appear ! 

Vishtaspa  reigned  in  rapture  many  a  year. 


LYRICS.  19 

Zeno. 


TJ  E  whom  the  Greeks  call  Zeno  Cypriote  — 
'        Ger-Baal  ben  Manasseh,  Lord  of  Truth  — 
Twixt  Citium  and  Athens,  in  his  youth 
Trading  in  Tyrian  purple,  plied  his  boat. 

Still  in  the  Porch  and  Grove  the  Athenians 

quote 
The  lean  Phoenician  merchant,  swart,  un- 

couth, 
Who  stopped  to  read  beside  the  copyist's 

booth, 
And  left  his  cargo  twenty  years  afloat  ! 

He  was  the  first  who  said  to  Man  :  "  Renounce. 
Follow  thy  soul  :  thou  hast  no  other  claim  ; 
And  yield  to  Fate  as  lambs  to  the   Eagle's 
pounce. 

"  Do  right.      Fear  nothing,  deeming  all  the 

same." 
Yet  not  for  that  we  heap  his  tomb  with 

crowns. 
But,  Duty,  he  was  first  to  breathe  thy  name  ! 


2O  LYRICS. 


Philo  Jud&us. 


*"THAT  the  inspired  and  fiery  souls  of  Seers 
Poets    and    heroes    should    renew    the 

Truth— 
I  hold  the  thing  no  marvel  ;  for  in  sooth 

By  these  our  Race  hath  grown  thro'  all  its  years. 

But  he  who  hath  not  drunk  of  human  tears, 
Who,  fired  by  no  prophetic  love  or  ruth, 
Spends    over    parchment    scrolls   a   pallid 

youth, 

Untouched,  unneighboured  by  our  pangs  and 
fears, 

How  should  he  frame  the  spirit's  world  anew  ? 
Answer  me,  Philo,  meek  and  studious  Jew, 
Who  winged   the   Six   Archangels   of  the 
Mage  ; 

And,  all  unconscious  of  the  marvel  done, 
Whispered  his  loftiest  secret  to  St.  John, 
And  left  in  East  and  West  another  age. 


LYRICS.  2  1 


Iren&us  contra  Gnosticos. 


GOD,  who  art  good,  since  Thou   Greatest 
Life, 

Curse  me  these  Syrian  prophets  of  Despair 
Who  gaze  upon  Thy  stars  nor  count  them 

fair! 
Or  bid  me  build  the  stake  and  whet  the  knife. 

Carpocrates  and  Marcion,  sons  of  strife, 
With  all  their  brood  of  evil,  perish  there  ! 
Till  Hell  be  drunk  with  spells  and  the  un- 
seen air 

Babble  of  magic  like  a  village  wife  ! 

But  we  be  free  to  dwell  in  peace  and  grace, 
We,  who  are  made  in  the  Image  of  Thy  Face  ; 
Nor  hear  them  tempt  the  child  and  teach 
the  lad 

How,  from  a  gulf  of  Sin,  in  poisoned  fumes 
The  Soul  of  Man  exhales,  expires,  consumes, 
And  mocks  the  God  above  him  blind  and 
mad  ! 


22  LYRICS. 


Taking  Possession. 


\  A  /HEN,  in  the  wastes  of  old,  the  Arabian 

VV      Sheikh 

Beheld  a  sudden  peace  amid  the  sands, 
With  springing  waters  and  green  pasture 
lands, 

Fringed  with  the  waving  palm  and  cactus-spike, 

Think  ye  he  stayed  to  fashion  fence  or  dyke  ? 
Nay  !  for  he  called  into  his  hollowed  hands 
Till  all  his  hounds  towards  him  trooped  in 

bands  — 

Sheep-dog  and   wolf-dog,   fawning,   cur   and 
tyke  — 

And  bayed  with  deep,  full  voices  on  the  calm. 

Then  he  :  "  So  far  as  the  last  echoes  die 
The   land   is  mine,  pasture  and   spring   and 
palm  !  " 

So  men  who  watch  afar  the  Hope  Divine 

Rally  a  pack  of  sectaries  and  cry  : 
"  Behold  the  Land  of  Promise  :    ours,   not 
thine  !  " 


LYRICS.  23 


The  Present  Age. 


\  A /E  stand  upon  a  bridge  between  two  stars. 

And  one  is  half  engulfed  in  the  Abyss  ; 

While  unarisen  still  the  other  is, 
Hidden  behind  the  Orient's  cloudy  bars. 

We  tread  indeed  a  perilous  path  by  night ! 
Yet  we  who  walk  in  darkness  unaghast 
Prepare  the  future  and  redeem  the  past, 

That  after  us  the  Morning-star  be  bright. 


LYRICS. 


Liberty. 


T  IBERTY,  fiery  Goddess,  dangerous  Saint, 
•^     God  knows  I  worship  thee  no  less  than 

they 
Who  fain  would  set  thee  in  the  common 

way 
To  battle  at  their  sides  without  restraint, 

Redoubtable  Amazon  !     Who,  never  faint, 
Climbest  the  barricades  at  break  of  day, 
With  tangled  locks  and  blood-besmirched 

array, 

Thy  torch  low-smoking  through  the  carnage 
taint  ! 

But  I  would  set  thee  in  a  golden  shrine 
Above  the  enraptured  eyes  of  dreaming  men. 

Where  thou  shouldst  reign  immutable,  divine, 

A  hope  to  all  generations  and  a  sign  ; 

Slow-guiding   to   the   stars,  through   quag 
and  fen, 

The  scions  of  thine  aye-unvanquished  line  ! 


LYRICS.  25 


The  Disguised  Princess. 

(France,  1893.) 

T  MMORTAL  Princess,  thou  whose  sovereign 
eyes 

Have  sent  so  many  a  paladin  afar 

To  win  thy  favours  in  the  feats  of  war, 
I  am  thy  lover,  I,  who  recognise 
Thy  royal  beauty  through  a  vile  disguise  ; 

And  still  I  worship  thee,  O  Dream,  O  Star  ! 

But  say,  what  fell  enchantment  bids  thee 

mar 
Thy  splendour  thus  in  tatters,  beggar- wise  ? 

O  my  enchanted  Princess,  still  divine 

However  mocked  with  foul  and  coarse  array, 
Thou  art  as  noble  as  the  generous  day, 
And  none,  not  even  thyself,  can  do  thee 

wrong  ; 

Yet  show  to  all  men's  eyes,  as  still  to  mine, 
Thou  art  the  Elect  of  Heaven,  a  Queen 
and  strong  ! 

c 


26  LYRICS. 


Soldiers    Passing. 


n  LONG  the  planetree-dappled  pearly  street, 
Full  flooded  with  the  gay  Parisian  light, 
I  watch  the  people  gather,  left  and  right, 
Far  off  I  hear  the  clarion  shrilling  sweet  ; 

Nearer  and  nearer  comes  the  tramp  of  feet  ; 
And,  while  the  soldiers  still  are  out  of  sight, 
Over  the  crowd  the  wave  of  one  delight 

Breaks,  and  transfigures  all  the  dusty  heat. 

So  I  have  seen  the  western  Alps  turn  rose 

When  the  reflection  of  the  rising  sun 
Irradiates  all  their  peaks  and  woods  and  snows. 

Even  so  this  various  nation  blends  in  one 
When  down  the  street  the  sacred  banner 

goes, 
And  every  Frenchman  feels  himself  its  son  ! 


LYRICS.  27 

A   French  Lily. 

* 

QWEET  Iphigenia-soul  of  every  day, 
^     Fair  vine  so  trellised  to  the  parent-stay 
Thou  hast  no  single  force,  no  separate  will, 
But  leaning  grow'st,  and,  flowering,  leanest 

still  ; 
In  that  walled  garden  where    thou   dwell'st 

alone 
Thou  art  the  whitest  blossom  ever  known  ! 

Less  full  and  ample  than  our  English  rose 
Whose  generous  freshness  floods  the  garden 

close, 

And  less  confiding  to  the  gatherer's  hand 
Than  their  forget-me-not  o'  the  Fatherland, 
Yet,  O  French  Lily,  pure  and  grown  apart, 
Ah,  none  the  less  I  wear  thee  next  my  heart ! 


28  LYRICS 


Se 


n 


'S- 


'PHE  flocks  that  bruise  the  mountain  grass 

Send  out  beneath  their  feet 
Such  thymy  fragrance  as  they  pass 
That  all  the  vale  is  sweet. 

Sometimes  a  stranger  breathes  your  name, 

O  friend  of  years  ago  ! 
And  in  my  heart  there  leaps  to  flame 

A  long-remembered  woe. 


LYRICS.  29 


The    Widow. 

**• 

OHE  hath  no  children,  and  no  heart 
In  all  our  hurrying  anxious  life  ; 

She  sits  beyond  our  ken  apart, 

Unmoved,  unconscious  of  our  strife  ; 

Shipwrecked  beyond  these  coasts  of  ours, 

On  some  sad  island  full  of  flowers 

Where  nothing  moves  but  memory  ; 

Where  no  one  lives  but  only  he  ; 
And  all  we  others  barely  seem 
The  phantom  figures  of  a  dream 

One  dreams  and  says,  "  It  cannot  be  !  " 

If  sometimes  when  we  talk  with  her, 
Her  absent  eyes  light  up  awhile, 

And  her  set  lips  consent  to  stir 
In  the  beginning  of  a  smile, 


30  LYRICS. 

It  is  not  of  our  world  nor  us 
But  some  remembrance  tremulous, 
Some  sweet  "  Ten  years  ago  to-day  !  " 
Or  haply  if  a  sudden  ray 

Set  all  her  window  in  a  glow 

She  thinks  :  "  'Twill  make  the  roses  blow 
I  planted  at  his  feet  to-day." 


His  tomb  is  all  her  garden-plot, 

And  rain  or  sunshine  finds  her  there. 
She  plants  her  blue  forget-me-not 

With  hands  but  half  unclasped  from  prayer  ; 
Her  loving  mercies  overbrim. 
O'er  all  the  tombs  that  neighbour  him  ; 
On  each  she  sets  some  dewy-pearled 
White  pink  or  fernlet  fresh-uncurled  ; 

She  plucks  the  withering  violets  ; 

And  here  if  anywhere  forgets 
The  emptiness  of  all  the  world. 


Here,  where  she  used  to  sob  for  hours, 
Her  deep  fidelity  unchanged 

Hath  found  a  calm  that  is  not  ours, 
A  peace  exalted  and  estranged. 


LYRICS.  3 1 

Here  in  the  long  light  summer  weather 
She  brings  the  books  they  chose  together 
And  reads  the  verse  he  liked  the  most ; 
And  here,  as  softly  as  a  ghost, 

Comes  gliding  through  the  winter  gloom 
To  say  her  prayer  beside  the  tomb 
Of  him  she  loves  and  never  lost. 


32  LYRICS. 


Song. 
* 


"THOU  sentest  them  an  Angel,  Lord, 

Since  they  were  precious  in  Thine  eyes, 
An  Angel  with  a  flaming  sword 
To  drive  them  out  of  Paradise. 

For  thus  they  kept  the  dream  of  bliss, 
The  hope  in  something  out  of  sight, 

Nor  ever  knew  how  sad  it  is 
To  weary  of  our  best  delight. 


LYRICS.  33 


The   Barrier. 


T  AST  night  I  dreamed  I  stood  once  more 

Beneath  our  garden  wall. 
I  saw  the  willows  bending  grey, 
The  poplar  springing  tall. 

O  paths  where  oft  I  plucked  the  rose, 

O  steeple  in  the  sky, 
O  Common  swelling  darkly  green, 

How  glad  at  heart  was  I ! 

My  hand  I  raised  to  lift  the  latch, 

But  lo,  the  gate  was  gone  ! 
And  all  around,  ay,  all  around 

There  ran  a  wall  of  stone.  .  .  . 

O  years  when  oft  we  plucked  the  rose, 
When  oft  we  laughed  and  cried  ! 

Thou  hast  no  gate,  O  Youth,  our  Youth, 
When  once  we  stand  outside  ! 


34  LYRICS. 


Selva  Oscura. 

* 

IN  a  wood 

Far  away, 
Thrushes  brood, 
Ravens  prey, 
Eagles  circle  overhead, 
Through  the  boughs  a  bird  drops  dead. 

Wild  and  high, 

The  angry  wind 
Wanders  by 

And  cannot  find 
Any  limit  to  the  wood 
Full  of  cries  and  solitude. 


LYRICS.  35 


The  Children  s    Angel. 


streets  are  dark  at  Clermont  in  Auvern. 
— O  steep  and  tortuous  lava-streets,  how 

plain 

With  eyes  that  dream  in  daylight  I  discern 
Your  narrow  skies  and  gabled  roofs  again  ! 

See,  through  the  splendours  of  the  summer 

heat 
We  climb  the  hill  from  Notre  Dame  du 

Port, 
A  mountain  at  the  end  of  every  street, 

And  every  mountain  crowned  with  tower  or 
fort. 

Until,  on  the  upmost  ridges  of  the  town, 
We  turn  into  the  narrowest  street  of  all, 

And  watch,  at  either  end,  the  way  slope  down 
As  steep  and  sudden  as  a  waterfall ! 


36  LYRICS. 

'Twas  there,  above  a  booth  of  huckster's  ware, 
Our  Angel  spread  her  broad   and  golden 

wings 
And  smiled  with  painted  eyes  and  burnished 

hair 
Above  a  motley  herd  of  trivial  things  ; 

A  fair  Church-angel  desecrate  !     We  turned 
To  barter  for  a  price  the  lovely  head, 

The  wide  blue  listening  eyes,  the  brow  that 

yearned, 
The  slim  round  neck  and  lips  of  palest  red. 

But  when  we  clasped  our  treasure  in  our  hold — 
Less     perfect,     like     all     treasure,     being 

attained — 
Behold,  below  the  radiant  eyes,  behold 

All   round   the  mouth,  the  wood   showed 
blunt  and  stained  ! 

"  True  !  "  quoth  the  Vendor,  "  yet  if  words 

or  blows 

Were  ought  avail,  or  children  less  a  pest, 
Those   lips   would    bloom    as    freshly    as    a 

rose  !  .  .  . 
The  children  never  cared  to  kiss  the  rest. 


LYRICS.  37 

u  But  every  day,  all  weathers,  wet  or  fine, 
Since  first  I  hung  your  Angel  at  the  door, 

Each  blessed  morning,  on  the  stroke  of  nine, 
And  every  week-day  evening  after  four, 

"  The  children  from  the  school-house  troop  in 

bands, 
Rush  down  the  street  their  helter-skelter 

run, 

Snatch  at  our  Angel  with  their  chubby  hands, 
And  laugh  and  leap  to  kiss  it  one  by  one. 

"  Fifty  at  least,  the  rascals  !     If  I  played 
My  dog-lash  on  their  backs,  who  cared  ? 

Not  they  ! 
Impudent,  blithe,  delighted,  unafraid, 

They    laughed    their   rippling   laugh   and 
rushed  away." 

The  Merchant  paused.     We  looked  each  in 

the  face 

The  other,  bade  our  fancy  one  farewell  : 
"  Nay,  keep  your  Angel  in  its  olden  place," 
We  cried,  "  good  friend  ;  it  is  not  yours  to 
sell. 


38  LYRICS. 

"  What,  did  you  think  us  basest  of  the  earth  ? 
That  we,  grown  old,  and  heartsick  with  the 

truth, 

Should  rob  the  little  children  of  their  mirth, 
And  take  the  children's  Angel  from  their 
youth." 


LYRICS.  39 


A  Controversy. 


T  ET  us  no  more  dispute  of  Heaven  and  Hell  ! 
How  should  we  know  what  none  hath 

ever  seen  ? 

We'll  watch  instead  the  same  sweet  miracle 
That  every  April    works    in    wood    and 

green.  .  .  . 

The  apples  in  our  orchard  are  a  bower 
Of  budding    bright-green    leaf    and    pearly 

flower, 

No  two  alike  of  all  the  myriad  blossom  ! 
Some  faintly-flushing  as  a  maiden's  bosom, 
Some  pursed  in  hardy  pinkness,  some  as  pale 
As  stars  that  glitter  o'er  the  twilit  vale. 


4-O  LYRICS. 

If  sometimes  from  His  balcony  on  high, 
The  Lord  of  all  the  stars,  with  musing  eye, 
Look  down  upon  this  orchard  of  our  world, 
Methinks  he  marks  as  blossom  dewy-pearled 
Sprung  from  the  branches  of  the  self-same  tree, 
Our  varying  faiths — and  all  the  creeds  there 

be!— 

Indifferently  radiant,  chiefly  dear 
For  that  ripe  harvest  of  the  later  year 
Which  promises  a  winter- wealth  of  mead 
To  fill  the  goblet  up  and  brim  the  bowl : — 
His  wine  of  generous  thought  and  ample  deed 
Sprung  from  the  perfect  blossom  of  the  soul. 


LYRICS.  41 


Serena. 


(In  the  forests  of  Paraguay  there  grows  a  plant  which  the 
peasants  call  Serena,  quite  unnoticeable,  and  yet  of  a  perfume  so 
attractive  that  those  who  have  plucked  the  flower  by  accident  are 
said  henceforth  to  roam  the  woods  incessantly  in  quest  of  another 
blossom.) 


T  N  Paraguayan  forest  there's  a  flower 
The  shepherds  call  Serena. 

(Of  all  that  blooms  on  herb  or  tree 
Serena  is  the  flower  for  me  !  ) 
The  white  magnolia  on  her  brazen  tower, 

The  lemon-fresh  verbena 
And  roses  where  their  purple  clusters  shower 
Are  nothing  to  Serena  ! 

For  where  the  wild  liana  shrouds  the  forest 
In  darkness,  under  cover, 

Serena  grows,  so  pure  and  small 
You  never  notice  her  at  all. 
No  herborist,  no  botanist,  no  florist, 

Hath  cared  to  con  thee  over 
Thou  little  lonely  blossom  that  abhorrest 
The  gazes  of  thy  lover  ! 


42  LYRICS. 

No  singer  ever  set  thee  in  his  sonnet, 
My  virginal  Serena ! 

(O  sacred  flower  that  none  may  choose, 
Or,  having  gathered  thee,  refuse.) 
And  never  yet — I  stake  my  faith  upon  it ! — 

Corinna  or  Celimena 

Hath  worn  thy  waxen  image  in  her  bonnet, 
O  pale  and  pure  Serena  ! 

But  here  and  there,  methinks,  a  weary  shep- 
herd 
In  quest  of  dewy  blossom 

Stoops   down  to   pluck   the    grass    in 

flower 

Beneath  a  white  acacia-bower, 
To  cool  some  ancient  scar  of  ape  or  leopard, 

Some  bite  of  snake  or  possum  ; 
And  lo  !  he  starts  and  smiles,  the  happy  shep- 
herd, 
Serena  in  his  bosom  ! 

And  through  his  veins  there  steals  a  subtle 

wonder, 
A  magic  melancholy, 

(So  faint  a  sense,  it  cannot  be 
A  hope  or  yet  a  memory) 


LYRICS.  4  3 

But  something  haunts  the  bough  he  slumbers 
under 

That  makes  it  rare  and  holy, 
And  lo  !  the  shadows  are  a  thing  to  ponder, 

And  every  herb  the  Moly  !  .  .  . 

Or  else  (who  knows  ?)  some  lithe  and  amber 

maiden 
Who  steals  to  meet  her  lover 

Goes  singing  with  an  idle  art 
To  ease  the  gladness  at  her  heart, 
Along  the  sombre  paths  and  cypress-shaden 

Deep  glades  the  roses  cover, 
And  fills  her  arms  with  garlands  heavy  laden 
The  dewdrops  sprinkle  over. 

But,  in  the  crown  she  binds,  her  slender  fingers 
Have  set  the  undreamed-of  flower  • 

And  from  that  moment  she  forgets 
Her  lover  and  her  carcanets  ; 
Nor  any  more  she  sings  among  the  singers, 

But  wanders  hour  on  hour 
Deep  in  the  wood  and  deeper,  where  there 

lingers 
The  secret  and  the  power  !  .  .  . 


44  LYRICS. 

Now  He  and  She  shall  wander  at  the  leading 
Of  one  enchanted  vision  ; 

Recall  the  thing  they  have  not  seen, 
Remember  what  hath  never  been, 
And  seek  in  vain  the  flower  they  plucked  un- 
heeding ; 

And  pass,  with  mild  derision, 
The   roses    where   the  herds  of  Heaven  are 

feeding, 
Or  lily-beds  Elysian. 

O  undiscovered  blossom  slight  and  wan,  set 
Deep  in  the  forest-closes, 

Be  mine,  who  ever,  as  thou  knowst, 
The  least  apparent  loved  the  most  : 
Low  music  at  the  first  faint-breathing  onset, 

The  summer  when  it  closes, 
The  silvery  moonrise  better  than  the  sunset, 
And  Thee  than  autumn  roses  ! 


LYRICS.  45 


The  Sibyl. 


OEHOLD,  the  old  earth  is  young  again  ! 
*^     The  blackthorn  whitens  in  the  rain, 
The  flowers  come  baffling  wind  and  hail. 
The  gay,  wild  nightingale 
Cries  out  his  heart  in  wood  and  vale. 
(And  in  my  heart  there  rises  too 

A  dim  free  longing 
For  some  delight  I  never  knew  ! ) 

O  Spring,  thou  art  a  subtle  thing, 
Wiser  than  we,  thou  Sibyl,  Spring  ! 
Thy  tresses  blown  across  our  face 
In  Life's  mid-race 
Remind  us  of  some  holier  place — 
(And  unawares  the  dullest  find 

A  new  religion 
That  all  their  doubts  have  left  behind  ! 


46  LYRICS. 


Ephphatha. 


miles  beyond  the  orange  river 
The  olive  orchards  gleam  and  shiver, 

And  at  the  river's  brink,  as  pale, 
The  ranks  of  moonlit  rushes  quiver. 

And  somewhere  in  a  hidden  vale, 
The  unseen  and  secret  nightingale 
Her  olden  woe  doth  still  deliver, 

Though  all  the  orchards  know  the  tale. 

O  magic  of  the  South,  whenever 
Your  sweet  dissolving  breezes  sever 

About  my  heart  the  bonds  of  mail, 
I,  too,  would  sing,  and  sing  for  ever  ! 


LYRICS.  47 


The  Sonnet. 

(To  M.  Gaston  Paris.) 

QONNET,  be  not  rebellious  in  my  hands 
^         That  ply  the  spindle  oftener  than  the 

lute  : 
Without  our  woman's  singing  thou  wert 

mute, 
O  sonnet,  born  of  us  in  sunnier  lands  ! 

Think,  how  the  singing-women   trooped  in 

bands 
To  seek  the  greenwood,  dancing  to  the 

flute! 

Hast  thou  forgot  the  refrain  dissolute  ? 
The  circling  dance,  the  chant,  the  ivied  wands  ? 

Sonnet,  a  thousand  years  ago  to-day 

Thou  wast  indeed  the  wild  instinctive 

song 
That  women  chaunted  for  the  Feast  of  May  ! 

But  now,  O  solemn  mirror  of  the  mind, 

Now  it  is  I  am  weak,  and  thou  art  strong, 
Keep  me  a  coign  of  clearness  and  be  kind  ! 


48  LYRICS. 


The  Bookworm. 


'THE  whole  day  long  I  sit  and  read 

Of  days  when  men  were  men  indeed 
And  women  knightlier  far  : 
I  fight  with  Joan  of  Arc  ;  I  fall 
With  Talbot  ;  from  my  castle-wall 
I  watch  the  guiding  star.  .  .  . 

But  when  at  last  the  twilight  falls 
And  hangs  about  the  book-lined  walls 

And  creeps  across  the  page, 
Then  the  enchantment  goes,  and  I 
Close  up  my  volumes  with  a  sigh 

To  greet  a  narrower  age. 

Home  through  the  pearly  dusk  I  go 
And  watch  the  London  lamplight  glow 

Far  off  in  wavering  lines  : 
A  pale  grey  world  with  primrose  gleams, 
And  in  the  West  a  cloud  that  seems 

My  distant  Appenines. 


LYRICS.  49 


O  Life  !  so  full  of  truths  to  teach, 
Of  secrets  I  shall  never  reach, 

O  world  of  Here  and  Now  ; 
Forgive,  forgive  me,  if  a  voice, 
A  ghost,  a  memory  be  my  choice 

And  more  to  me  than  Thou  ! 


50  LYRICS. 


New  Yearns  Eve. 


"PHE  traveller  who  after  long  delay 

Turns  gladly,  ah,  how  gladly  !  home 

again, 

Sees  deadlier  than  it  is  the  deadly  main, 
And  ambushed  with  a  direr  chance  the  way. 

And  ever,  as  he  nears  the  homing  day, 

A    thousand    feverish    terrors    rack    his 

brain  : 
He  sees  his  dear  ones  pallid,  as  in  pain, 

He  starts  at  night  with  dreams  he  dare  not  say. 

So  when  at  last  he  stands  within  the  garth, 
And  lifts  the  latch,  and  sees  them  well 

and  strong, 
Clustered    in    radiant    welcome    round    the 

hearth  ; 

He  turns  half-faint  to  find  his  fear  so  wrong. 
As  I,  Old  Year,  who  dreaded  thee  so  long 
To  find  thee  spent  in  love  and  smiles  and  song  ! 


LYRICS.  5 1 


Oriental  yealousy. 

(To  Doctor  Sheikh  Mohammed,  of  Teheran.) 

I   AST  night,  upon  the  garden  wall, 

Two  nightingales  sang  side  by  side, 
And  while  I  could  not  sleep  at  all 

The  anguish  of  my  heart  they  cried. 
The  secret  of  my  heart  they  sang, 

And  trilled  and  shouted  in  the  gloom, 
Till  when  the  garden  echoes  rang, 

I  shuddered  in  my  darkling  room. 

"  O  rose  and  oleander  boughs ! 

(They  lilted)  Trails  of  flowering  bay  ! 
O  maidens  treasured  in  a  house, 

As  fragrant  and  as  frail  as  they. 
Trees  of  the  sacred  garden  close 

That  reach  your  branches  o'er  the  wall ! 
Profane  and  desecrated  rose, 

Whose  petals  on  the  highway  fall  ! 


52  LYRICS. 

"  How  should  ye  know  the  pang,  the  goad, 
That  stabs  the  Gardener's  heart  in  twain, 

When  half  across  the  common  road 

He  sees  the  boughs  he  pruned  in  vain, 

The  flowers  he  reared  for  him,  the  fruits 

No  stranger's  eye  should  look  upon  !  .  .  . 

"  Tear  up,  O  Gardener,  branch  and  roots, 

The    flower's    a    mock,    the    perfume's 
gone ! " 


LYRICS.  53 


A  Word  in  Counsel. 


CHILDREN,  be  not  abused  :  Love  is  sweet  ! 
^         Leave  honours   and  ambition  to  the 

old, 
Nor  let  your  youth  be  laden  o'er  with 

gold 
Before  ye  know  how  loud  the  heart  can  beat. 

Children,  no  stair  is  steep  to  happy  feet  ! 

Wrapt  in  one  mantle,  if  the  hearth  be 
cold, 

Each  all  the  closer  in  the  other's  hold, 
Ye  have  so  many  secrets  to  repeat  ! 

Children,  be  not  deceived  :  Love  is  dire  ! 

And  Love  illicit  a  consuming  fire 

That  burns  the  soul  to  ruin,  the  heart  to  ash. 

Ay,  rather  than  confront  the  nameless  life 
Of  the  unbelov'd,  unloving,  erring  wife, 
Pray  for  the  Russian  tortures  of  the  lash  ! 


54  LYRICS. 


Song. 


n    HEART  as  deep  as  the  sea, 

A  heart  as  vast  as  the  sky, 
Thou  shouldest  have  given  to  me, 
O  Spirit,  since  I  must  die  ! 

For  how  shall  I  feel  and  attain 

The  joy  and  the  fear  and  the  strife, 

The  hope  of  the  world  and  the  pain 
In  the  few  short  years  of  a  life  ? 


Ballads  and  Legends. 


BALLADS  AND  LEGENDS.  57 

The   Death    of  the    Count  of 
Armaniac. 


TTHERE'S  nothing  in  the  world  so  dear 

To  a  true  knight,"  he  cried, 
u  As  his  own  sister's  honour  ! 
Now  God  be  on  our  side  !  " 

The  walls  of  Alexandria 

That  stand  so  broad  and  high, 

The  walls  of  Alexandria 
They  answered  to  the  cry. 

And  thrice,  his  trumpets  blaring, 
He  rides  around  those  walls  ; 

"  Come  forth,  ye  knights  of  Lombardy, 
Ye  craven  knights  !  "  he  calls. 

Armaniac,  O  Armaniac, 

Why  rode  ye  forth  at  noon  ? 

Was  there  no  hour  at  even, 
No  morning  cool  and  boon  ? 

The  swords  of  Alexandria 
He  kept  them  all  at  bay, 


58  BALLADS  AND  LEGENDS. 

But  oh,  the  summer  sun  at  noon 

It  strikes  more  deep  than  they. 

*  *  *  * 

Oh  for  a  drink  of  water  ! 

Oh  for  a  moment's  space 
To  loose  the  iron  helm  and  let 

The  wind  blow  on  his  face  ! 

He  turned  his  eyes  from  left  to  right, 
And  at  his  hand  there  stood 

The  shivering  white  poplars 
That  fringed  a  little  wood. 

And  as  he  reeled  along  the  grass, 

Behold,  as  chill  as  ice 
The  water  ran  beneath  his  foot, 

And  he  thought  it  Paradise. 

"  Armaniac  !  O  Armaniac  !  " 
His  distant  knights  rang  out  ; 

And  "  Armaniac  "  there  answered  them 
The  mountains  round  about. 

Armaniac,  O  Armaniac, 

The  day  is  lost  and  won  : 
Your  hosts  fight  ill  without  a  chief, 

And  the  foe  is  three  to  one. 

*  *  *  * 


BALLADS  AND  LEGENDS.  59 

At  dusk  there  rides  a  Lombard  squire, 

With  his  train,  into  the  copse, 
And  when  they  reach  the  water-side 

The  horse  whinnies  and  stops. 

For  dead  beside  the  white  water 

A  fallen  knight  they  find  ; 
His  helmet  lies  upon  the  grass, 

His  locks  stir  in  the  wind. 

"  Now  speak  a  word,  my  prisoners  ! 

What  great  captain  is  he 
Who  died  away  from  battle 

Alone  and  piteously  ?  " 

Woe  !  and  woe  for  Armaniac, 

And  woe  for  all  of  us, 
And  for  his  sister's  honour,  woe 

That  he  be  fallen  thus  ! 

For  "  where's  the  Count  of  Armaniac  ?  " 

The  Lombard  women  sing  ; 
"  He  died  at  Alexandria 

Of  the  water  of  a  spring  !  " 

Thy  name  is  made  a  mock,  my  Lord, 

Thy  vengeance  still  to  pay, 
And  we  must  pine  in  Lombardy 

For  many  and  many  a  day  ! 


60  BALLADS -AND  LEGENDS. 

Rosamunda. 

(From  tht  Piedtnontese.) 

7"T  H,  love  me,  Rosamunda, 

Now  love  me  or  I  die !  " 
— "  Alas,  how  shall  I  love  thee  ? 
A  wedded  wife  am  I." 

"  And  wilt  thou,  Rosamunda, 
We  put  the  man  away  ?  " — 

— "  Alas,  how  shall  we  do  it  ? — " 
"  To-day  or  any  day  ! 

"  Within  thy  mother's  garden 
An  asp  is  in  the  vine  : 

Go,  bray  it  in  a  mortar 
And  put  it  in  his  wine." 

*-'-'  -'-  « 

•T*  *.- 

"  Ho,  wife  !     Ho,  Rosamunda  ! 

Where  art  thou,  low  or  high  ? 
For  I  am  home  from  hunting, 

And  sore  athirst  am  I." 

"  The  wine  is  in  the  goblet, 
The  wine  is  in  the  cup, 

Go,  take  it  from  the  cupboard 
And  lift  the  cover  up." 


BALLADS  AND  LEGENDS.  61 

"  Ho,  wife  !     Ho,  Rosamunda  ! 

Come  hither,  come  and  see  ! 
The  good  red  wine  is  troubled  .  .  . 

How  came  this  thing  to  be  ?  " 

u  The  sea-wind  yester-even 

Hath  troubled  it,  I  think." 
— u  Come  hither,  Rosamunda, 

Come  hither,  come  and  drink  !  " 

— "  Alas,  how  shall  I  drink  it 

When  I  am  not  athirst  ?  " 
— "  Come  hither,  Rosamunda, 

Come  here  and  drink  the  first  !  " 

— "  Alas,  how  shall  I  drink  it 
That  never  drank  of  wine  ?  " 

— "  Thou'lt  drink  it,  Rosamunda, 
By  this  drawn  sword  of  mine  !  " 

— "  I  drink  it  to  my  lover  ! 

I  drink  it  and  I  die  ! 
My  lover  is  the  King  o'  France — 

A  dead  woman  am  I." 


62  BALLADS  AND  LEGENDS. 


Captain   Gold  and  French 
Janet. 


TPHE  first  letter  our  Captain  wrote 

To  the  Lord  of  Mantua  : 
"  Did  you  ever  see  French  Janet 
(He  wrote)  on  any  day  ?  " 

"  Did  ye  ever  see  French  Janet, 
That  was  so  blithe  and  coy  ? 

The  little  serving-lass  I  stole 
From  the  mountains  of  Savoy. 

"  Last  week  I  lost  French  Janet  : 
Hunt  for  her  up  and  down  ; 

And  send  her  back  to  me,  my  Lord, 
From  the  four  walls  o'  the  town." 

For  thirty  days  and  thirty  nights 
There  came  no  news  to  us. 

Suddenly  old  grew  Captain  Gold, 
And  his  voice  grew  tremulous, 


BALLADS  AND  LEGENDS.  63 

O  Mantua's  a  bonny  town, 

And  she's  long  been  our  ally  ; 
But  help  came  none  from  Mantua-town. 

Dim  grew  our  Captain's  eye. 

"  O  send  me  Janet  home  again  !  " 

Our  Captain  wrote  anew  ; 
"  A  lass  is  but  a  paltry  thing, 

And  yet  my  heart's  in  two  ! 

"  Ha'  ye  searched  through  every  convent-close, 

And  sought  in  every  den  ? 
Mistress  o'  man,  or  bride  of  Christ, 

I'll  have  her  back  again  ! " 


O  Mantua's  a  bonny  town, 
And  she's  long  been  our  ally  ; 

But  help  came  none  from  Mantua-town, 
And  sick  at  heart  am  I. 

For  thirty  days  and  thirty  nights 
No  news  came  to  the  camp  ; 

And  the  life  waned  old  in  Captain  Gold, 
As  the  oil  wanes  in  a  lamp. 


64  BALLADS  AND  LEGENDS. 

The  third  moon  swelled  towards  the  full 
When  the  third  letter  he  wrote  : 

"  What  will  ye  take  for  Janet  ? 
Red  gold  to  fill  your  moat  ? 

"  Red  wine  to  fill  your  fountains  full  ? 

Red  blood  to  wash  your  streets  ? 
Ah,  send  me  Janet  home,  my  Lord, 

Or  ye'll  no  die  in  your  sheets  ! " 

0  Love,  that  makes  strong  towers  to  sway, 
And  captains'  hearts  to  fall ! 

1  feared  they  might  have  heard  his  sobs 

Right  out  to  Mantua-wall. 

For  thirteen  days  and  thirteen  nights 

No  messenger  came  back  ; 
And  when  the  morning  rose  again, 

Our  tents  were  hung  with  black. 

The  dead  bell  rang  through  all  the  camp  ; 

But  we  rung  it  low  and  dim, 
Lest  the  Lombard  hounds  in  Mantua 

Should  know  the  end  of  him. 


BALLADS  AND  LEGENDS.  65 


Sir  Eldric. 
* 

ELDRIC  rode  by  field  and  fen 
To  reach  the  haunts  of  heathen  men. 


About  the  dusk  he  came  unto 

A  wood  of  birchen  gray, 
And  on  the  other  side  he  knew 

The  heathen  country  lay. 

"  'Tis  but  a  night,"  he  sang,  "  to  ride, 
And  Christ  shall  reach  the  other  side." 

The  moon  came  peering  through  the  trees, 

And  found  him  undismayed  ; 
For  still  he  sang  his  litanies, 

And  as  he  rode  he  prayed. 

He  looked  as  young  and  pure  and  glad 
As  ever  looked  Sir  Galahad. 

About  the  middle  of  the  night 

He  came  upon  the  brink 
Of  running  waters  clear  and  white, 

And  lighted  there  to  drink. 


66  BALLADS  AND  LEGENDS. 

And  as  he  knelt  a  hidden  foe 

Crept  from  behind  and  smote  him  so. 

He  turned  ;  he  felt  his  heart's  blood  run  ; 

He  sought  his  enemy  : 
"  And  shall  I  leave  my  deeds  undone, 

And  die  for  such  as  thee  ? " 

And  since  a  Knight  was  either  man, 
They  wrestled  till  the  dawn  began. 

Then  in  the  dim  and  rustling  place, 

Amid  the  thyme  and  dew, 
Sir  Eldric  dealt  the  stroke  of  grace, 

And  sank  a-dying  too, 

And  thought  upon  that  other's  plight 
Who  was  not  sure  of  Heaven  to-night. 

He  dipped  his  fingers  in  his  breast  ; 

He  sought  in  vain  to  rise  ; 
He  leaned  across  his  foe  at  rest, 

And  murmured,  "  I  baptize  ! " 

When  lo  !  the  sun  broke  overhead  : 
There,  at  his  side,  Himself  lay  dead  ! 


BALLADS  AND  LEGENDS.  67 


The  Mower. 


T^HEY  were  three  bonny  mowers 

Were  mowing  half  the  day  ; 
They  were  three  bonny  lasses 
A-making  of  the  hay. 

"  Who'll  go  and  fetch  the  basket  ?  " 
"  Not  I."     "  Nor  I."     "  Nor  I." 

They  had  no  time  for  falling  out 
Ere  Nancibel  came  by. 

"  What's  in  your  basket,  Nancibel  ?" 
"  There's  cakes  and  currant  wine, 

There's  venison  and  good  cider,  lads  ; 
Come  quickly,  come  and  dine." 

They  were  two  bonny  mowers 

Fell  to  among  the  best  ; 
The  youngest  sits  a-fasting, 

His  head  upon  his  breast. 


68  BALLADS  AND  LEGENDS. 

"  What  ails  ye,  bonny  mower, 

You  sit  so  mournfully  ?  " 
"  Alas  !  what  ails  me,  Nancibel  ? 

Tis  all  the  love  of  thee." 

"  Now  laugh  and  quaff,  my  bonny  lad, 
And  think  no  more  o'  me. 

My  lover  is  a  finer  man 
Than  any  twain  o'  ye. 

"  He's  bought  for  me  a  kirtle, 
He's  bought  for  me  a  coat, 

Of  three-and-thirty  colours, 
Wi'  tassels  at  the  throat. 

"  And  twenty  Maids  of  Honour 
They  stitched  at  it  a  year, 

And  sewed  in  all  their  needlework 
The  kisses  of  my  dear  ! " 


BALLADS  AND  LEGENDS.  69 


The  Three  Kings. 


T^HREE  kings  went  riding  from  the  East, 

Through  fine  weather  and  wet  ; 
"  And  whither  shall  we  ride,"  they  said, 
"  Where  we  have  not  ridden  yet  ?  " 

"  And  whither  shall  we  ride,"  they  said, 

"  To  find  the  hidden  thing 
That  turns  the  course  of  all  our  stars 

And  all  our  auguring  ?  " 

They  were  the  Wise  Men  of  the  East, 

And  none  so  wise  as  they  ; 
"  Alas  !  "  the  King  of  Persia  cried, 

"  And  must  ye  ride  away  ? 

"  Yet  since  ye  go  a-riding,  sirs, 

I  pray  ye,  ride  for  me  ; 
And  carry  me  my  golden  gifts 

To  the  King  o'  Galilee. 


70  BALLADS  AND  LEGENDS. 

"  Go  riding  into  Palestine, 

A  long  ride  and  a  fair  !  " 
"  'Tis  well !  "  the  Mages  answered  him, 

"  As  well  as  anywhere  !  " 

They  rode  by  day,  they  rode  by  night, 
The  stars  came  out  on  high — 

"  And  oh  !  "  the  King  Balthazzar  said, 
As  he  gazed  into  the  sky, 

"  We  ride  by  day,  we  ride  by  night, 

To  a  king  in  Galilee, 
We  leave  a  king  in  Persia, 

And  kings  no  less  are  we. 

"  Yet  often  in  the  deep  blue  night, 
When  stars  burn  far  and  dim, 

I  wish  I  knew  a  greater  King 
To  fall  and  worship  him. 

"  A  King  who  should  not  care  to  reign, 

But  wonderful  and  fair  ; 
A  king — a  king  that  were  a  Star 

Aloft  in  miles  of  air  !  " 

"  A  star  is  good,"  said  Melchior, 
"  A  high,  unworldly  thing  ; 


BALLADS  AND  LEGENDS.  71 

But  I  would  choose  a  soul  alive 
To  be  my  Lord  and  King. 

"  Not  Herod,  nay,  nor  Cyrus,  nay, 

Not  any  king  at  all ; 
For  I  would  choose  a  sinless  child 

Laid  in  a  manger-stall." 

"'Tis  well,"  the  black  King  Caspar  cried, 

"  For  mighty  men  are  ye  ; 
But  no  such  humble  King  were  meet 

For  my  simplicity. 

"  A  star  is  small  and  very  far, 

A  babe's  a  simple  thing  ; 
The  very  Son  of  God  Himself 

Shall  be  my  Lord  and  King  !  " 

The  King  Balthazzar  sighed  and  smiled  ; 

"  A  good  youth  !  "  Melchior  cried  ; 
And  young  and  old,  without  a  word, 

Along  the  hills  they  ride. 

Till  lo  !  among  the  western  skies 
There  grows  a  shining  thing — 

"  The  star  !     Behold  the  star,"  they  shout ; 
"  Behold  Balthazzar's  King  !  " 


72  BALLADS  AND  LEGENDS. 

And  lo  !  within  the  western  skies 

The  star  begins  to  flit ; 
The  three  kings  spur  their  horses  on 

And  follow  after  it. 

And  when  they  reach  the  King's  Castle 
They  cry,  "  Behold  the  place  !  " 

But,  like  a  shining  bird,  the  star 
Flits  on  in  heaven  apace. 

Oh  they  rode  on  and  on  they  rode, 
Till  they  reached  a  lonely  wold, 

Where  shepherds  keep  their  flocks  by  night, 
And  the  night  was  chill  and  cold. 

Oh  they  rode  on  and  on  they  rode, 

Till  they  reach  a  little  town, 
And  there  the  star  in  heaven  stands  still 

Above  a  stable  brown. 

The  town  is  hardly  a  village  street, 

The  stable's  old  and  poor, 
But  there  the  star  in  heaven  stands  still 

Above  the  stable  door. 

And  through  the  open  door,  the  straw 
And  the  tired  beasts  they  see  ; 


BALLADS  AND  LEGENDS.  73 

And  the  Babe,  laid  in  a  manger, 
That  sleepeth  peacefully. 

"  All  hail,  the  King  of  Melchior  !  " 

The  three  wise  men  begin  ; 
King  Melchior  swings  from  off  his  horse, 

And  he  would  have  entered  in. 

But  why  do  the  horses  whinny  and  neigh  ? 

And  what  thing  fills  the  night 
With  angels  in  a  wheeling  spire, 

And  streams  of  heavenly  light  ? 

King  Melchior  kneels  upon  the  grass 

And  falls  a-praying  there  ; 
Balthazzar  lets  the  bridle  drop 

And  gazes  in  the  air. 

But  Caspar  gives  a  happy  shout 

And  hastens  to  the  stall, 
"  Now  hail !  "  he  cries,  "  thou  Son  of  God, 

And  Saviour  of  us  all !  " 


74  BALLADS  AND  LEGENDS. 


The  Slumber  of  King  Solomon. 


"FHE  house  is  all  of  sandal-wood 

And  boughs  of  Lebanon, 
The  chamber  is  of  beaten  gold 
Where  sleeps  King  Solomon. 

With  thirty  horsemen  to  the  left 

And  thirty  to  the  right, 
Upon  their  mighty  horses  set 

To  guard  him  from  the  night. 

They  watch  as  silent  as  the  moon, 
Drawn  sword  and  gathered  rein  ; 

They  will  not  stir  till  Solomon 
Shall  rise  and  move  again. 

And  whiter  than  their  white  armour, 
Brighter  than  spear  or  sword, 

Four  Angels  guard  the  dreaming  King, 
Four  Angels  of  the  Lord. 


BALLADS  AND  LEGENDS.  75 

Four  Angels  at  the  four  corners, 

And  burning  over  head 
The  Glory  of  God,  the  great  Glory 

That  never  shall  be  said. 

Sleep  well,  sleep  well,  King  Solomon, 

For  He  that  guardeth  thee, 
He  neither  slumbers,  nay,  nor  sleeps, 

Through  all  eternity. 

Sleep  well,  sleep  well,  King  Solomon, 

Lapped  soft  in  silk  and  nard  ; 
For  Raphael,  Uriel,  Mikhael, 

And  Gabriel  are  thy  guard. 

With  thirty  horsemen  to  the  left 

And  thirty  to  the  right, 
Sleep  well,  sleep  well,  King  Solomon, 

Sleep  through  the  eternal  night. 


76  BALLADS  AND  LEGENDS. 


The  Death  of  Pr  ester 


(Yasht  xxii.) 

\  A/HEN  Prester  John  was  like  to  die,  he 

called  his  priests,  and  said  : 
"  O   Mages,  seers  and  sorcerers,  sayers  of 

holy  sooth, 
Where  is  the  soul  of  a  faithful  man  after  the 

body  is  dead  — 

Where  is  the  soul  of  the  man  who  is  dead  ? 
Answer,  and  speak  the  truth  !  " 

The  priests  stood  round  the   couch  in  rows 

beside  the  dying  king. 
"Will  no  one  speak  ?  "  said  Prester  John, 

"  ye  who  have  time  and  breath  ? 
Is  there  not  one  of  all  my  priests  will  answer 

me  this  thing  : 

Where  is  the  soul  of  a  faithful  man  on  the 
first  night  after  death  ? 


BALLADS  AND  LEGENDS.  77 

Then  up  and  spake  the  eldest  seer  (and  he 

was  white  as  rime, 
Bent  as  a  sea-blown  apple  stem,  solemn  as 

night  at  sea)  : 
"  Between  thy  death  and  mine,"  he  said,  "  is 

but  a  little  time, 

And  what  I  speak,  O  King,  I  speak  ho  less 
for  thee  than  me. 

"  Know,  on  the  first  night  after  death,  the 

Soul  kneels  on  the  bier, 
Among  the  lights  about  the  head,  lighter 

and  brighter  than  they, 
And  sings  the  Lauds  of  God  all  night,  in  a 

sweet  voice  and  a  clear, 
And  sings  the  Lauds  of  God  all  night  until 
the  dawn  of  day. 

"  But   when  the   morning   drives   away  the 

third  night  after  death, 
A  wind  comes  rushing  from  the  South — a 

wind  of  youth  and  mirth, 
Sweet  with  the  scent  of  roses  and  the  honey  of 

the  heath, 

The   sweetest-scented  wind,  O  King,  that 
ever  blew  on  earth  ! 


78  BALLADS  AND  LEGENDS. 

"  And  when  the  Soul  shall  wake  from  prayer, 

a  wonder  shall  he  see  : 
For  he  shall  start  and  breathe  the  wind 

whose  sweetness  cannot  cloy — 
And  down  the  middle  of  the  breeze  a  Maiden 

moveth  free, 

And  all  the  joy  o'  the  living  Earth  is  nothing 
to  his  joy  ! 

"  For  she  shall  take  his  hands  in  hers,  and 

'  Welcome  !  '  shall  she  say, 
'  I  am  thy  Conscience  !  Look  at  me  !    Thou 

art  my  Master,  thou  ! 
For  I  was  fair,  but  thou  hast  made  me  fairer 

than  the  day, 

And  I  was  bright ;  but  turn,  O  Soul,  and 
gaze  upon  me  now  !  ' 

"  And  they  shall  walk  together,  turning  each 

to  look  on  each, 
Through  rings  on  rings  of  Paradise  divinely 

calm  and  bright, 
Through   the   Eden   of  Good  Thought  and 

through  the  Eden  of  Good  Speech, 
Through  the  Eden  of  Good  Works  until 
the  realms  of  Endless  Light. 


BALLADS  AND  LEGENDS.  79 

"  Behold  the  Saints,  in  ranks  of  bliss,  stand  up 

on  either  hand, 
And    press    to    greet    them    amorously : 

'  Whence  earnest  thou,  and  when  ? 
Tell   us  how  fares   the  world  of  strife — the 

loving,  sorrowing  land  ? 
Art  thou  content  with  Heaven,  O  Soul,  after 

the  life  of  men  ?  ' 

"  But  One  shall  speak :  '  Peace  to  the  Soul 

that  enters  into  rest ! 
Question   him   not   who,   weary  from   the 

dolorous  pass,  and  sore, 
Enters  eternal  bliss  at  last !     The  will  of  God 

is  best. 

Question  him  not,  question  him  not,  if  he 
would  live  once  more  !  '  " 


8o  BALLADS  AND  LEGENDS. 


The  Widower  of  Haider  abad* 


n  T  morning  when  I  wake,  no  more 

I  hear  her  in  the  twilit  hour, 
Who  beats  the  clay  upon  the  floor, 
Or  grinds  the  sorghum  into  flour. 

And  when  at  sunset  I  return, 

I  half  forget  the  silent  child, 
Still  brightening  up  her  brazen  urn, 

Who  never  raised  her  head  or  smiled. 

But  when  the  night  draws  on,  I  fear  ! 

.  .  .  She  stands  before  me,  pale  as  ash, 
And  still  the  trembling  voice  I  hear 

That  bleats  beneath  my  mother's  lash. 

And  I  remember  how  she  died  — 
And  it  is  I  that  tremble  now  ; 

For  I  behold  the  Suicide 

Hanged  to  the  flowering  mango-bough. 


BALLADS  AND  LEGENDS.  81 

.  .  .  My  mother  wears  upon  her  breast 

A  silver  image  of  the  dead. 
The  best  of  all  we  have  the  best 

We  offer  her  with  bended  head. 

We  scatter  water  on  her  grave, 
We  burn  the  sacred  lamps  for  her  ; 

For  her  the  fumes  of  incense  wave 

And  fill  the  house  with  smells  of  myrrh. 


.  .  .  The  day  we  bore  her  to  the  tomb 
We  paused  again  and  yet  again 

To  scatter  down  the  sandy  coomb 
Our  mustard  seed  in  ample  rain. 

For  so  we  knew  that  in  the  night, 
When  up  the  self-same  path  she  goes, 

All  round  her  in  the  dreamy  light 
The  spiritual  garden  blows. 

She  laughs  to  see  the  unhoped-for  cloud 
Of  waving,  swaying,  golden  flowers, 

And  gathering  up  her  trailing  shroud 
She  flits  amid  the  stems  for  hours. 


z  BALLADS  AND  LEGENDS. 

So  every  night  she  shall  delay, 

And  fill  her  arms  with  faery  bloom, 

Until  the  dawning  of  the  day 
Recall  her  spirit  to  the  tomb. 

So  we  may  sleep  in  safety  here.  .  .  . 

But  yet,  through  all  the  sunless  hours, 
I  feel  her  drifting  slowly  near 

Amid  the  withering  mustard  flowers. 

O  God  !  to  them  that  call  on  Thee 

Give  life,  give  riches,  make  them  strong 

Or  make  them  holy — but  to  me 
Let  not  Thy  midnight  be  so  long  ! 


BALLADS  AND  LEGENDS.  83 


The  Deer   and   the   Prophet. 


n  HUNTSMAN,  enemy  of  those 

Who  praise  the  prophet  Mahomet, 
Far  in  the  forest  laid  his  net, 
And  laid  it  deep  in  tangled  brier-rose 
And  tufts  of  daffodil  and  thyme  and  violet. 

One  early  morning,  pink  and  gray 

As  early  mornings  are  in  May 

A  fallow  deer  went  forth  to  take  the  air  ; 

And  wandering  down  the  forest  glades  that 

way 
She  fell  into  the  snare. 

Alas,  poor  soul,  'twas  all  in  vain 
She  sought  to  venture  back  again, 
Or  bounded  forth  with  hurrying  feet, 
Or  plucked  with  horn  and  hoof  the  net  ; 


84  BALLADS  AND  LEGENDS. 

Too  well  the  mazy  toils  were  set 

Around  her  russet  ankles  neat. 

All  hope  being  gone,  she  bowed  her  innocent 

head 
And  wept.     "  O  Heaven,  that  is  most  just," 

she  said, 

"  In  thy  mysterious  ends  I  acquiesce  ; 
Yet  of  thy  mercy  deign  to  bless 
The  little  ones  I  left  at  home  : 
Twin  fawns,  still  dreaming  on  their  sheltered 

bracken-bed 

When  I  went  forth  to  roam, 
And   wandered   careless  where  the   net   was 

spread. 


"  And  yet,  O  Heaven,  how  shall  they  live, 

Poor  yeanlings,  if  their  mother  die  ? 

Their  only  nourishment  am  I  ; 

They  have  no  other  food  beside  the  milk  I 

give, 

And  save  my  breast  no  warmth  at  night, 
While  still  the  frost  lies  crisp  and  white, 
As  lie  it  will  until  the  roses  blow." 
And  here  she  fetched  so  deep  a  sigh 
That  her  petition  could  no  further  go. 


BALLADS  AND  LEGENDS.  85 

Now  as  she  hushed,  the  huntsman  strode  in 

sight 

Who  every  morning  went  that  way 
To  see  if  Heaven  had  led  the  hoped-for  prey 
Into  his  nets  by  night. 
And  when  he  saw  the  fallow  deer, 
He  stood  and  laughed  aloud  and  clear, 
And  laid  his  hand  upon  her  neck 
Of  russet  with  a  snowy  fleck, 
And  forth  his  hunting-knife  he  drew  : 
u  Aha  !  "  he  cried,  "  my  pretty  dame, 
Into  my  nets  full  easily  you  came  ; 
But  forth  again,  my  maiden,  spring  not  you  ! " 
And  as  he  laughed,  he  would  have  slit 
The  throat  that  saw  no  help  from  it. 
But  lo  !  a  trembling  took  the  air, 
A  rustling  of  the  leaves  about  the  snare  ; 
And  Some  one,  dusk  and  slim, 
There,  sudden,  stayed  his  hand  and  smiled  at 

him. 


Now,  never  was  there  huntsman  yet 
Who,  when  his  tangled  snare  was  set 
And  in  the  snare  the  comely  game, 
Endured  the  loosening  of  the  net. 


86  BALLADS  AND  LEGENDS. 

Our  huntsman  turned  an  angry  face  aflame, 

And  none  the  lesser  was  his  wroth 

To  see  none  other,  by  my  troth, 

Than  Mahomet  himself,  the  immortal  Ma- 
homet, 

Who  stood  beside  the  net. 

"  Ha,  old  Imposter  !  "  he  began — 

But  "  Peace,"  the  prophet  said,  "  my  man  ; 

For  while  we  argue,  you  and  I, 

The  hungry  fawns  are  like  to  die. 

Nay,  let  the  mother  go.  Within  an  hour,  I 
say, 

She  shall  return  for  thee  to  spare  or  slay  ; 

Or,  if  she  be  not  here, 

Then  I  will  stand  your  slave  in  surety  for  the 
deer." 

The  huntsman  turned  and  stared  a  while. 

"  For  sure,  the  fool  is  void  of  guile  ! 

Well,  he  shall  be  my  slave  i'  sooth, 

And  work  as  in  his  idle  youth 

He  never  worked,  the  rogue  !  "  Our  hunts- 
man laughed  for  glee, 

And  bent  and  loosed  the  tangles  joyfully  ; 

And  forth  the  creature  bounded,  wild  and 
free. 


BALLADS  AND  LEGENDS.  87 

But  when  she  reached  the  bracken-bed, 
Where  still  the  young  ones  lay  abed 
Below  the  hawthorn  branches  thick — 
"  Awake,"  she  cried,  "  my  fawns,  and  milk  me 

quick  ; 

For  I  have  left  within  the  net 
The  very  prophet  Mahomet !  " 


u  Ah  !  "  cried  the  little  fawns,  and  heard 
(But  understood  not  half  a  word). 
"  Quick,  quick,  our  little  mother,  quick  away, 
And  come  back  all  the  quicklier  !  "  cried  the 

fawne, 

And  called  a  last  good-bye  ; 
And  sat  a  little  sad,  they  knew  not  why, 
And  watched  their  mother  bounding,  white 

and  gray, 

Dim  in  the  distance  o'er  the  dewy  lawns 
And  wide,  unfriendly  forests  all  in  flower. 
And  so  the  deer  returned  within  an  hour. 


"  Now,"  said  the  prophet,  smiling,  "  kill, 
Or  take  the  ransom,  as  you  will." 


88  BALLADS  AND  LEGENDS. 

But  on  his  knees  the  huntsman  fell, 
And  cried  aloud  :  "  A  miracle  ! 
Nay,  by  my  nets  and  hunting-knife, 
I  will  not  take  the  creature's  life  ; 
And,  for  a  slave,  until  I  die, 
Thou  hast  no  trustier  slave  than  I !  " 


No  creature  is  so  hard  beset, 

But  lo  !  the  undreamed-of  Angel  yet 

May  interpose  his  power,  and  change  the  end. 

And  no  one  is  so  poor  a  friend, 

Or  so  diminished  to  the  dust, 

But  may  be  worthy  of  a  Heavenly  trust. 


DATE  DUE 


)6    1988 


ttw 


GAYLORD 


9   3  1970  00595  9306 


THERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY 'FACILITY 


A    000565109     6 


